


Finger Lickin' Good

by ScrollingKingfisher



Series: Gabriel Monthly Challenges [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asmodeus Being Horrible, Gen, Heavily Implied Torture, Slavery, Wings, You're never going to want to eat KFC ever again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrollingKingfisher/pseuds/ScrollingKingfisher
Summary: “Y’know, you’re right. I used to hate this sort of food.” Asmodeus considered the contents of the bucket, prodding on one or two of the pieces. “Nasty, greasy. Too much fuss, all them little bones. And the mess! Dang, the mess gets everywhere. I had to kill my last dry cleaner when he couldn’t get the stains out. But y’know what? It’s kinda growin’ on me. It provides a lesson.” He picked up a wing, turning it to inspect it closely.“Sometimes, it’s worth gettin’ your hands dirty.”





	Finger Lickin' Good

**Author's Note:**

> If you're about to dig into your KFC bargain bucket, you might want to leave this fic for later. Just sayin'.

 

“He’s ready for you.”

 

“Thank you.” Ketch let the sarcasm drip from his words, a sneer curling his lip. The demon scowled back at him as he passed, but didn’t say anything.

 

It wouldn’t do to let his disdain show through while he was meeting with Asmodeus, but with the other demons, Ketch knew he had a little more leeway. Just because all of this was necessary didn’t alleviate his dislike of the entire situation. Working with demons? A Prince of Hell? What had he been thinking?

 

But it was a little too late to back out now; he had to work with what he had. And double crossing was always satisfying, especially because it gave him the opportunity to pick whichever side appeared to be winning. There were advantages of being a free agent, and one of them was survival.

 

He pushed open the door to the throne room. He heard a rustle, but deliberately didn’t look to the side, to where the cage bars were. Ketch had done many horrible things in his time, but there was something about the way that Asmodeus had defiled what should have been one of the most powerful creatures in the universe that turned his stomach.

 

Asmodeus himself was lounging on his throne, his pristine suit almost glowing in the gloom. “Ketch! I thought I told you to be ready to come when I called.”

 

Ketch folded his hands neatly in front of himself, standing to attention. “I’m sorry Sir, I had… prior commitments.”

 

Asmodeus looked up at him, threatening behind a thin veil of civility. “Well, next time, don’t. The food’s almost here.”

 

Food? Asmodeus hadn’t seemed like the kind of employer to exactly throw an office party. Ketch didn’t trust food from the demon as far as he could throw it. “Sir, you didn’t have to-”

 

“You think it’s for you?” Asmodeus laughed. Ketch bristled internally. But he was saved the temptation to make a cutting remark by a knock at the door.

 

“Enter.”

 

The demon came in, grovelling. “What you asked for, Sir.”

 

Asmodeus got up from his throne and snatched it casually from the demon’s grip, not giving him a second glance. The demon backed out, closing the door behind himself, but Ketch’s eyes were stuck on the red bucket, the white writing scrawled across it. The familiar stink of stale grease wafted over him.

 

“KFC?” Ketch couldn’t keep the incredulousness out of his tone.

 

Asmodeus chuckled. “Now, I know what you’re thinkin’. Why am I eatin’ mass produced deep fried garbage when I could be dinin’ on actual fare?”

 

“I couldn’t help wondering, yes.” Ketch glanced with mild disgust at the soggy battered pieces of what had once been chicken, huddled in the bottom of their tub like they were trying to retain what little warmth they’d started out with.

 

“Y’know, you’re right. I used to hate this sort of food.” Asmodeus considered the contents of the bucket, prodding on one or two of the pieces. “Nasty, greasy. Too much fuss, all them little bones. And the mess! Dang, the mess gets everywhere. I had to kill my last dry cleaner when he couldn’t get the stains out. But y’know what? It’s kinda growin’ on me. It provides a lesson.” He picked up a wing, turning it to inspect it closely. “Sometimes, it’s worth gettin’ your hands dirty.”

 

He turned, looking past Ketch with a nasty smile pulling at his lips. Ketch heard a low whine from the cage. He resisted the urge to look.

 

Asmodeus, though, had his eyes fixed on the broken archangel. They didn’t leave him even as he held up the chunk of chicken for Ketch’s inspection.

 

“Would you believe this used to be a wing, Mister Ketch? You wouldn’t think to look at it, but-” He dug his fingers in, peeling off the layer of batter like he was skinning it with efficient brutality- “Lookit that. There’s a wing under there after all. But here’s where it gets real interestin’.”

 

He walked over to the cage, crouching down in front of it. The archangel scrabbled back from the bars, plastered wide-eyed to the back of the cell like he wanted the wall to absorb him. Asmodeus kept the pretense of talking to Ketch, but the words were aimed at the miserable creature in front of him.

 

“Now, the wings ain’t the nicest part of the bucket, and no one’s pretendin’ they are. The wings are the challenge. Peelin’ off the skin’s quite easy once they’ve been deep fried.” He ripped the goosebumped skin off as well, leaving the anatomy visible, muscles and bones and cartilage exposed. The archangel made a choked sound. “If the fryer’s hot enough, the chicken should be cooked just perfect, you should be able to peel the muscle right off the bones.” He extracted one dark muscle group from the mass of gristle, tendon still trailing from the end, and popped it into his mouth, chewing. “Mmmm-mmm. Delicious.” A dribble of grease ran down Asmodeus’ fingers, soaking dark into the white suit. 

 

“And finally, after all that, we get to the bones. Gabriel here’s real familiar with wing anatomy, but just in case you don’t know, Mister Ketch, I’ll go over it for you, just this once.” Cruel fingers twisted tiny bones out of the shattered mass of cartilage. “These here are what would be the finger bones on a human. And this, this is the thumb bone, or the alula if you’re gonna get real technical.” Gabriel made a wounded noise from behind the stitches, eyes locked on the delicate yellowed things pinched in Asmodeus’ grip like he couldn’t look away.

 

“Next parts are more like us humans.” The demon pulled out the longer bones, rolling them on his palm and discarding the mangled remains of the flesh back into the box. “We got the radius, the ulna, the humerus. But unlike us, bird bones are hollow. Which means I can do this.” Asmodeus braced the bone between two fingers, and broke it with a brittle _crack_. He picked up the next one, and broke that one too. Gabriel flinched with each snap, trembling all over, Ketch noted with rising nausea. What had he done to him? Surely not…

 

The demon reached through the bars and patted Gabriel on the head. “Shush shush. I won’t do that again, ‘s long as you’re a good boy. As long as you behave.”  Each impact made the archangel tense and shudder, eyes fixed on the ground. “Good,” Asmodeus crooned. Ketch swallowed heavily.

 

Asmodeus stood, flinging the broken shards of bone into a corner of the room before turning back to him, eyes tinged with sadistic, sulfurous yellow. “That’s what I do to things of mine that misbehave, Ketch. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Ketch opened his mouth, then had to close it again and clear his throat before he could choke the words out. “Crystal. Sir.”

 

Asmodeus smiled, white and shining. “Good.” He held out the bucket. “Chicken?”

 


End file.
